Theobroma
by eevilalice
Summary: Hermione's having a rough time of it following a break-up with Ron & with her final year at Hogwarts drawing to a close. Draco awkwardly attempts to lift her spirits. Possible companion piece to "Draco, Like a Mac and Cheese Virgin."


**Disclaimer:** I own neither the world of Harry Potter, nor its characters and do not profit from the writing of this story.

**A/N:** Theobroma=food of the gods (aka chocolate ;))

Hermione blew her nose for what she estimated to be the hundredth time that week. She wished there were a spell to erase tears, dry up snot, and clear the blotchiness marring her complexion.

Everything was wrong.

She and Ron had just split the previous weekend after finally, _finally_, getting together before the holidays. Nothing dramatic, no hard feelings. They simply . . . didn't fit, despite the fact that Hermione had always felt they were _meant_ for one another. She thought all their fighting over the years had been sexual tension, a real spark, but once formally a romantic couple, something changed and it all went flat. She had a theory that Lavender Brown had used some nefarious potion or charmed that hideous necklace she'd given Ron sixth year, but Hermione didn't have time to research such things properly.

On top of the break-up, school was ending. However much Hermione was up for a challenge, she didn't truly like change. She _loved_ school, school loved her, and things were better than ever since Harry had defeated Voldemort that winter. She was Head Girl, proving especially excellent at repairing inter-House relations post-war, leading by example with a truce and semi-acquaintanceship with her fellow Head, Draco Malfoy. She was first in her year and had already been approached by the Ministry and several private companies regarding jobs, even as she prepared for impending NEWTS. Where was the challenge?

And how was it she'd run out of tissues, she wondered, sniffling mightily and glancing round the room. _Bugger. I left the other box out on the table,_ she remembered, rising from her bed and crossing the room to the door. Opening it, she started, surprised to see Draco, knuckle raised as if about to knock, a parcel in his other hand.

"Sorry," she apologized, without knowing why. What was he doing there? Usually he stayed down at dinner longer. She _never_ would have dared leave her room in this state otherwise.

Draco shifted on his feet, looking past her with forced nonchalance. He gestured vaguely with the hand holding the thin, oblong box and mumbled something.

"What?" She'd never once heard him speak unclearly and without absolute (over)confidence.

Another mumble, this time accompanied by a glance down at the parcel, which Hermione now noticed must have been intricately wrapped, given the strands of ribbon peeking out.

"I can't understand what you're saying, Draco."

He managed to make eye contact with her a moment, color rising to his pale cheeks, jaw unclenching as he repeated, "Would. You. Like. A. Chocolate. Granger." He swiftly looked away again, thrusting the box out at her.

"Oh, I, uh," she muttered intelligently, taking the parcel from him and staring back in confusion. This was new. While she and Draco had managed to get along fairly amicably as Head Boy and Head Girl, they weren't exactly mates.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes and shrugged. "Don't girls . . . like chocolate? When they're sad or, uh, hysterical or whatever?"

Hermione decided to overlook the hysterical part. "Y-yes. Most do, I suppose . . ."

His head drew up sharply. "You don't?"

_What_ is _this?_ "Yes, I do. It's just, I came out to, er, get some more tissues." She nodded in the direction of the table in their shared common room.

He turned and eyed the tissues, glancing back at her as if just noticing her puffy eyes and red nose. He stalked over and grabbed the box like he was mad at it, and Hermione took the opportunity to lift the lid off the sweets and have a look inside. Row after row of fancy dark chocolates, individually wrapped, and a folded piece of parchment. Before she could read it, Draco was proffering the box of tissues, still angry at it, apparently, if his scowl were anything to judge by.

"I can't believe you're still crying over _Weasley_," he growled, pushing past her and into her room. He set the tissues down on her trunk. "What's it been, a month?"

"A week," she corrected, too depressed by the reminder to care that Draco had just barged into her room.

"Oh." He looked genuinely surprised by this. "Still, it's ridiculous. It's not as if Weasley was ever your intellectual equal. Or an equal of any kind."

Despite herself, the irony of Draco Malfoy assessing equality forced a small smile. She ignored his insults regarding Ron and, as he flounced down on her bed, went to fish out a chocolate. Hand brushing the bit of parchment, she kept the box's lid raised and, under cover, let curiosity get the better of her. In flowing, feminine script she read, _I promised I'd never forget. Love, Mother._

Small smile stretching into a full-fledged grin, she removed a chocolate, handing the box back to a still-distracted Draco.

"I mean, it's not as if loads of blokes didn't notice you fourth year at the Yule Ball. Why go slumming? You're first in our class, _right_ above me by a _fraction_ of a point, you've managed to tame that crazy hair of yours . . ."

"Draco, did your mum send you these?" Hermione interrupted, casually unwrapping a chocolate.

"What?" Draco shot up from the bed, unsettling several chocolates in the box. He looked inside and blanched. Going rigid, he squared his shoulders, snapping the lid shut and tossing the sweets too casually on the mattress behind him. "Yes, so?"

But now Hermione was the one distracted, having just bitten into the rich, creamy, heavenly bittersweet chocolate. "Oh my God," she gasped, words garbled, eyes closing in confectionary bliss.

"Well then, you see?" Hermione could hear the vindication in his voice. She shoved the rest of the chocolate into her mouth and looked up at him as she let it melt there a bit. His arms were crossed against his chest, a satisfied smirk in place. A smirk that was rapidly loosening into something else.

Unfolding his arms, he pointed one elegant finger at her face, eyes transfixed on her mouth. "You've got," he began, but never finished, bringing his thumb to the side of her upper lip and brushing it gently. Hermione's heart went schizoid in her chest.

Draco backed away as if she were a dangerous animal. "Er, you can keep the lot," he said and, as he bumped into the door jamb on his way out, sucked the bit of chocolate from his thumb dazedly. A moment later she heard his bedroom door bang shut.

Now _here_ was a challenge.


End file.
